


Anathema

by LoveandScience



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft denies his feelings, but like everything i write the ending will be happy, mystrade, mystrade-centric, relapsed Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveandScience/pseuds/LoveandScience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their fingers brushed against each other, and it was not romantic. Mycroft didn't have time for something so silly, so decidedly... human. There was no stirring of his heart and no meaningful gaze between them as they sat across from each other at the coffeeshop</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Convenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You care despite the fact that I do not, and I do not mind spending my time with you. It actually might be enjoyable, you know, if I felt things like that about people.

But were the choice presented  
I could not relinquish or bequeath  
The walls I built around the truth  
I closely guard within

\-- _If I Was_ , VNV Nation

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Their fingers brushed against each other, and it was not romantic. Mycroft didn't have time for something so silly, so decidedly... _human_. There was no stirring of his heart and no meaningful gaze between them as they sat across from each other at the coffeeshop. However, the politician's brain clicked a few times, filing the information away that the Detective Inspector did not pull his hand back.

 _Interesting_ , he noted, and it was not out of vanity that he came to the next conclusion. Reading people was part of his job, especially recognizing how they reacted to him.

 _The Detective Inspector has romantic interest in me_. Mycroft glanced up from the case file to confirm this, taking in the nervous beverage-stirring and red-tinged cheeks of his companion.

“So, is that everything you needed?” the grey-haired man looked up from his coffee.

Mycroft nodded. “Thank you again for keeping an eye on my brother, Detective Inspector.”

Lestrade gave a sad smile. “You know I'm not into that whole spying bit, but I'm worried, you know? John's not got much time for him, anymore, and Sherlock's not taking it well.”

Half-a-second of consideration. “I should have done more,” he confessed. The DI was the perfect candidate to talk about Sherlock issues with. For years, he'd shown compassion toward the younger Holmes, and he'd proven himself loyal, honest, and kind. A good man. “I advised him not to care, expecting he could do so. But he isn't me. I should have realized this, but now he's to the point where he doesn't understand his own feelings and can't deal with them healthily.”

The fingers against Mycroft's outstretched hand shifted, and he found Lestrade's hand suddenly gripping his. “Have you considered getting him a therapist? It helped me out. After the divorce, you know.”

_Physical affection enacted despite my plain language stating that I do not care. Noted._

“Do you think a therapist could handle my brother?”

“The right one, yeah,” Lestrade assured him. “If you can convince him to give it a go.”

The elder Holmes gave a smile that did not reach his eyes and disentangled their hands as he stood. “Thank you for your suggestion, Detective Inspector. I believe I'll take it.”

The copper looked disappointed at the loss of contact, but quickly shifted his face into a neutral expression. “Great. So, meet me for coffee again next Thursday?”

“Is it necessary to meet again so soon?”

Greg looked down. “Guess not. See you later, Mycroft,” he threw him a small smile and turned to leave.

Mycroft put a hand on his upper arm, stopping the DI. He could practically feel the sparks dancing excitedly across the other man's skin. Feelings radiated from him like a bad odor, and Mycroft had to stop himself from jerking his hand back. “If you would like to meet again, I will see you here, Thursday at eleven. Perhaps you will have more... suggestions about Sherlock.”

_I will neither encourage nor discourage this interest in me. I will not lead him on, but people can be quite beneficial when they fancy you, and it would be a waste to ignore this opportunity._

The Iceman most certainly did not feel a thing as the DI's face lit up. That, of course, would not be advantageous. And he did not feel regret for relationships that could never be. That would be silly.


	2. Peace in the Noise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the constant noise, you are a place of peace for me. Somewhere I can relax when it becomes overwhelming.

“Along the crowded streets  
faces unknown, pass me by  
Filtered signals in the noise  
reveal what paper masks disguise

Every voice part of the sound  
The noise that doesn't cease.” 

\-- _Still Waters_ , VNV Nation 

\------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Under his umbrella as the rain poured down, Mycroft walked. Less people went out in the rain, meaning less information to barrage his senses. Sure, he could lock himself inside to get away from it all, and he often did that, but it was nice to get some peace out in the fresh air. 

He took no joy when he manipulated the people around him, but he couldn't help instantly seeing everything about everyone. And part of seeing it all involved a summary of what they could do. It wasn't even a choice whether or not he made the tiny jump to what they could do for him, personally. It was just obvious, staring him in the face. 

And no, Mycroft did not always act on those uses. Not only would that be unkind, but he would be seen through. In fact, most people left his company feeling as if he'd done them a favor, and he invoked as much gratitude as he did fear. But the knowledge of who they were allowed him to get on their good sides and act in a way he might not have, and sometimes he thought that was unfair. The alternative, though, was to ignore who they were and what they really wanted, and that didn't seem right, either. He only ever concluded the same thing, that what he did was morally neutral, but it still nagged at him if he really dwelled on it. 

The rain began to let up, his appreciation of city and nature and musings cut short by the busying sidewalks, an influx of information barraging him from every angle. 

_Just left her husband; owns two—no, three-- dogs; hair dye number 3; had chicken for lunch._

_Veterinarian; seeing multiple people, but it's consensual; likes Doctor Who._

_Trying for a child but it's not working, she's infertile; going house hunting later today._

_Looking for another flatmate but has bad hygiene so they all move out._

_On his way to pick up his daughter from daycare; coming down with a cold; recently widowed._

Mycroft shut the door to his flat and closed his eyes. It wasn't often he needed a break, but the occasional one was important. 

After a twenty-eight minutes of lying in bed staring at his ceiling, he rolled on his side and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. 

_I've enjoyed our weekly meetings this last month. -MH_

Ninety-seven seconds. 

_Me too.- GL_

Well, what could it hurt to have a companion that wasn't part of his usual stuffy crowd? That's the reasoning he'd been using lately, because their coffee-meetings definitely weren't just about Sherlock. Even he didn't believe that when he said it. Besides, he already looked out for the Detective Inspector for Sherlock's sake, so it wasn't any extra work to have him as a friend. 

_Chinese and a movie at my place? -MH_

The DI was someone he knew so much about that the information feed would be comfortably familiar. Something he could shove to the back of his mind and just enjoy the company. He was convenient and easy and if the DI got something out of it, it was a win-win. 

Fifty-three seconds. 

_I'll be there at six-thirty. -GL_

\-------------------------------------------------------------- 

Mycroft perked up when the hesitant knock on his door came. 

“Come in, Detective Inspector,” he greeted the other man. 

Lestrade rolled his eyes “I've told you, call me Greg.” 

“Gregory.” 

“Close enough,” he grinned.


	3. Cease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against all common sense, my feelings for you have escaped my careful control. I find myself desiring your company, no matter the circumstance.

“As the stars appear  
I know I'll find you staring at the sky.  
Pointlessly reaching for some light  
You hope to guide your sorry way.”

\-- _Saviour (Vox)_ , VNV Nation 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

“Oh, come on, don't tell me he's going to go off to the army, now. After all that?” Lestrade complained at the screen. 

Mycroft gave a quiet, controlled laugh. “You're certainly getting into this movie, aren't you?” 

The DI huffed. “I just hate to see someone throw away a perfectly good relationship. She begged him not to enlist. Do you know how hard it is to find someone? How many people wait years for that sort of connection?” 

“He's gone to serve his country and king. Some would find that a noble sacrifice.” 

“Bollocks. He's scared of being vulnerable. Thinks it's better to end things before they really begin. He's just running away under the guise of sacrifice.” 

Mycroft sniffed. “Not everyone holds love in such high regard. There are things much more important than catering to the fleeting whims of the heart.” 

Greg fell silent, leaning back into the couch until the movie ended. 

They exchanged ordinary parting words and walked to the front door, before Lestrade turned, leaning against the doorway. “You're right. There are things more important than relationships, but they're not worthless. When you find something good, you owe it to yourself to hang on if you can.” 

No. No, Mycroft was not having this. He was not having a moment where they stared heatedly into each other's eyes. He tore his gaze away after three uncomfortable seconds, nodding noncommittally. “I did enjoy your company, Gregory,” he said, when the awkward tension faded and he could meet the other man's visage again. 

“I had a great time, too,” he said, his voice soft, twisted with a want to say more. 

“We'll do this again?” 

Greg nodded, grinning at that. “Next time at my place.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Sherlock stared straight ahead, ignoring the woman sitting 46 degrees to his left. 

“Tell me, Sherlock, is cocaine actually helping you?” 

He gave no indication that he'd heard her. 

She was used to silent clients, and it did not deter her. “It's not. We both know that. The only way out of this is working through whatever feelings you can't deal with. I understand you may be frightened--” 

“I'm not _frightened_ ,” he finally said, filling the last word with scorn. “I'm _appalled_. I should be able to control this. These... _feelings_.” 

The therapist adjusted her position, getting more comfortable. This was the first time he'd spoken to her in 5 sessions. Well, if you don't count the initial one where he tried to scare her off by deducing all sorts of horrible facts about her personal life. “As brilliant as you are, Sherlock, feelings aren't something you control. They're something you deal with, because you have to. Because if you don't, they rule your life. I assume you don't want that.” 

“Riveting. Is this what my brother's paying you for?” 

“Yes,” she answered, not rising to the bait. He was talking, and this was progress. “Mycroft's told me about John,” she said gently, hoping the push wasn't too much. 

The consulting detective shot her a furious look. “John's married. It doesn't matter what I feel, because even before I died he wasn't interested.” 

“It does matter what you feel, because it's running your life. Without your permission. Doesn't that piss you off?” 

“Immensely.” 

“Good. It should. So you're going to work with me, then?” 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_Had a shit day. You around tonight?--GL_

Mycroft set his phone on his desk. They were getting too close, too reliant on each other, and Mycroft knew he'd have to back away a little. But not now, when he was needed. 

_The pub nearest the Yard? 20 minutes?-- MH_

The phone vibrated with a new message almost immediately. 

_See you in 20-- GL_

The bar wasn't too busy on a Wednesday night, which Mycroft was thankful for. He spotted the DI waiting at a table and joined him. 

_He's been here for an hour, already._ “Gregory?” the concern did not stay out of his voice. 

Lestrade looked up, his eyes a lingering red. “I know what you're.... thinking. I'm not...” he raised a hand, “not drunk.” 

“Double negatives, Gregory. You just admitted you are,” he sat down on the stool and took the half-full glass, setting it out of the other man's reach. 

Lestrade laughed. “You're fun-ny, Mycroft. Ennyone that cann't apreeshiate your humor's got no taste,” he slurred. 

Mycroft put a tentative hand on the detective's shoulder. “I think it's time to leave, as flattering as your compliments are.” He gave Greg a pat and left to settle the bill. 

When he turned back to the table, Greg was staring at him. 

Greg smiled as their eyes made contact, and waved. 

With a barely-restrained sigh, Mycroft returned to his companion and helped him to his feet. 

“We cann',” he started, then stumbled along the sidewalk. The politician steadied him. “We cann' go to my flat. I don' wanna be aroun' the neighbors having sex.” 

“I'm taking you to my place, then. You're going to tell me what happened tonight or tomorrow, and you're going to get a good night's sleep.” 

Greg grinned at that and leaned more heavily on to Mycroft, who almost fell at the sudden extra weight. 

When Lestrade was safely deposited on the elder Holmes' couch, it all began to flow at once. “Annd my ex-wife just out of nowhere, she shows up, behind me at the store, and she starts chewing me out. You know? She just starrrrts digging at all my insecurities and I can't even defend myself. 'Cause I donn' wanna hurt her, you know? Never could. Not intenshunally. Annd anyway, she's right, I'm never gunna finnd someone 'cause I'm boring an' I work too much an' my hair's too grey.” He slumped, sullen. 

Okay. It'd been a long time since he'd comforted anyone, but he'd done it plenty when Sherlock was little. He hadn't forgotten. He could do this. 

“Gregory, do you know how dull I find most people? How mindless? They're like goldfish. So, yes, maybe you're hair's grey, but believe me when I say you are far from boring if you can keep my attention as you do. And the dedication you have to your job is admirable. More people could learn from that.” 

He'd been half-expecting the sudden hug that the DI enveloped him in, but he hadn't imagined liking it. 

“Thank you, Mycroft.” 

The whispered appreciation sent a bullet of warmth through the politician with all of the writhing pain that metaphor implies. He cursed to himself and his hands moved, without his explicit permission, to cup Gregory's face. And it was the utter revulsion at himself for what he was about to do that finally snapped him out of it, allowing him to pull back, hastily offer a blanket and pillow, and retreat to his bedroom. 

These actions could not be allowed to happen. These feelings were unacceptable. 

He had to stop this. Right now.


	4. Lacking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You break something inside of me. I'm not sure how or why. It makes me more human.

“Over time desire shall fall and lie and fade.  
Await unequaled thought and virtuosity.  
Desire lies in wait, a precious cup, a stone or some such.  
Absent moments, ones which raised the heart to stand so great.

Cannot choose not to deny.  
Blame falls easy silently.  
Darkness preferable, comfort found again.  
In solitude, a door into an empty room.  
A door to familiar desolation.  
The spoils of past years lost for reason,   
lost for some notions of new days.” 

\-- _Frika_ , VNV Nation 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

**June 18th, 2015**

_Had to be at the office early. Door will lock on its own, it's a keypad entry, so feel free to leave when you wish. Won't be able to meet for coffee today. --MH_

Greg's face fell a little at the text, but understood Mycroft was a busy man. When he felt less sick, he gathered his few belongings and made his way home. 

_Sorry about last night. Thanks for everything you did. --GL_

He didn't see a response until later that evening, but didn't think much of the time gap. 

_Nothing to be sorry about. --MH_

He went to sleep feeling that, for the first time in a long time, he had a really good friend. 

**June 20th, 2015**

_You free this weekend? --GL_

**June 22nd, 2015**

_Guess not. --GL_

**June 24th, 2015**

_We still on for our usual coffee, tomorrow? --GL_

**June 25th, 2015**

_You didn't show. --GL_

**June 26th, 2015**

_You don't have to do this passive aggressive shit, you know? Why would you say it's fine if it's not? --GL_

**June 27th, 2015**

_You're a prick, you know that? --GL_

**June 28th, 2015**

_Okay, I'm getting worried, now. Where the hell are you? If you're dead or kidnapped I'm going to feel like a total bastard. Just let me know you're alive. --GL_

**July 2nd, 2015**

_I asked Sherlock. You're not dead. You're just a prick, then. Tell me what the hell I did? --GL_

**July 5th, 2015**

_You didn't do anything wrong, Gregory. You have my full permission to fault me for this. --MH_

_Oh, I see. 'It's not you it's me.' I don't even know what 'it' is. This is crap, Mycroft. --GL_

**July 10th, 2015**

_Meet me, please? Tell me why? This is going to bug me forever, if you don't. --GL_

**July 17th, 2015**

_A mnth AGo u wld have pigked me up frvm the PUb._

Mycroft put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. And then he got up, put on his coat, and headed for the pub where he knew his ex-friend would be. 

Greg might have taken a swing at the politician had he been able to stand properly and not needed his help, yet again, to get home. 

“'ey! Don't jussst drop me off at my flat like you... like you arenn' even my friend!” 

Something twisted in the Iceman, bringing on a moment of weakness. “Okay,” he said quietly, “I'll explain all of this, but when you're sober. I'll be by your flat tomorrow morning at ten.”


	5. Sociopath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You saw through it, and I think it's strange that I can be both so attracted to and so repelled by the same thing.

“so many little things followed me  
so many little things that bothered me  
but I found my answer  
from all the chaos that followed me  
I have found my answer  
I've told you before don't follow me  
because I am not your answer

I am not alone, I am not afraid, I am not unhappy  
these are the words I say to myself everyday” 

\-- _Fearless_ , VNV Nation 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Greg answered the door groggily, still feeling the effects of the liberal amount of alcohol he had drunk the night before. “Hey,” he greeted, self-conscious in his robe and slovenliness before the well-tailored politician. 

“No need to be embarrassed, Gregory,” he reassured Lestrade, stepping inside the flat, “but I do hope this won't become a habit.” 

The DI gestured to the couch, used to the Holmes-ian 'you didn't say anything but I know you were thinking it' method of interaction. “Let's just get this overwith, okay? I'm going to need all the time I can get before work to get over losing the best friend I've had in years.” 

Mycroft felt the twist inside of him, again, and didn't even try to stop himself this time. “I don't...” he faltered for a moment, the resigned expression of the detective piercing into him. “I don't _feel_ like you do, Gregory. Like normal people do. I can turn it off at will, and yet I find myself not wanting to, when it comes to you. That causes me a great deal of stress.” 

“And so you decided to put an end to us. To our friendship. Do you know how much that hurt?” 

Mycroft took a step closer, closing the door behind him since apparently Gregory wasn't going to do it. “That's what I'm saying. I don't know. You're attracted to a sociopath, and I thought if you were angry with me, if you felt abandoned by me, you wouldn't want anything more to do with me. I tried to make you stop this, for your own sake.” 

“Bollocks, Mycroft! You have feelings you can't help just like the rest of us! I know you do! You love your brother and your parents, and don't try to lie to me and say you don't. You've spent a great deal of your life just making sure Sherlock was okay and keeping him out of as much trouble as you could. I don't believe that's something you could just turn off, and so I don't buy the entire crock of shit you're saying. God, what is it with you and your brother? You're two of the most sensitive people I know, and you just... _lie_ about it. Why anyone would _want_ to be a sociopath is beyond me, but you're just not! So stop with that!” 

The elder Holmes stared, motionless in the wake of the tirade. 

He opened his mouth to speak. Closed it again. Turned around and left. 

Greg stared for a few moments, then slammed the door, almost stomping to his bedroom to get ready for the day. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“I've resolved not to tell John until he's over Mary.” 

The therapist furrowed her brow. “What happened to Mary?” 

Sherlock sighed. “They didn't last, obviously. She hurt him. But then again, so did I, so it's unlikely a relationship with me would succeed, either.” 

“You did it to save his life.” 

“Mm,” he hummed in assent, “but I didn't treat him too well before my death.” 

Silence passed in which they both contemplated the situation. 

“I believe,” the woman began, “that you can change that and possibly have a shot, if you stay honest and repair your trust. But more importantly, you have to address your personal struggles and deal with them. With or without him, you need to be content within yourself.” 

Sherlock brandished a gun, suddenly, and shot the wall three times. “This is stupid!” 

To her credit, the doctor knew her patient, and didn't even flinch. “It's time for me to go, anyway, so I'll see you next week.” 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Yes?” Mycroft answered his phone, trying to keep the shaking from his voice. 

“Sherlock shot the wall, today.” 

The elder Holmes smiled despite himself. “I did promise you an interesting case.” 

“You did, and I like him. He got clean a lot faster than I expected, too. But that's not the reason I'm calling. Would you be willing to come in for a family session?”


	6. Shifting Tectonics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've moved a part of me so deeply that the plates of my personality have shifted. The resulting devastation to what's on the surface may not be to your liking.

“I asked myself was I content  
with the world that I once cherished  
did it bring me to this darkened place  
to contemplate my perfect future?”

\-- _Epicentre_ , VNV Nation 

\--------------------------------------------------------------- 

The problem was that Gregory was right. Mycroft had adopted the sociopathic identity because being hyper-aware of facts was difficult enough without also being hypersensitive to feelings. A constant stream of facts is noisy and occasionally overwhelming, but they are useful to navigate society and become superior. Feelings, on the other hand, are messy and fickle. A barrage can easily cripple, and Mycroft found that they had only held him back in getting things done or choosing the practical solution, especially when it came to the major issues that he had to decide upon every day at his job. 

So feelings became something that other people have. He understood them well enough to work his way to the top, but they were less something he actively engaged in and more of an obstacle to achieving his desired outcomes. He'd been perfectly content this way for years, despite the loneliness, but that was easy enough to push to the side. So much easier to ignore than a relationship would be. He indulged himself by worrying for his younger brother, as that wasn't something he had the strength to ignore. 

And now, one insignificant detective inspector had managed to wreck the entire system. It was completely unreasonable! He wasn't mad at the DI, no, he was angry at himself. How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so weak? 

Was it lust? Was that the problem? If he got it out of his system, could he finally go back to the placid, solitary existence he had relished for almost his entire life? 

With these thoughts and the ferocity of his rage, he found himself knocking sharply on Lestrade's door at a quarter till midnight. 

Greg answered, about to voice his confusion when Mycroft crushed their lips together. Mycroft shut the door with one hand, not breaking the kiss, before maneuvering the DI 180 degrees and pushing him up against the entryway. Lestrade groaned as he felt the other man's tongue invade his mouth, unable to protest the situation until Mycroft's hand began sliding up his shirt. 

“Shit,” he said, finally pushing Mycroft back a few inches and breaking the kiss. “What is this supposed to be?” 

“You being right.” 

“Shit,” Lestrade said again, and he was lost. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

As Mycroft opened his eyes the next morning to the glaring 6:58 of Lestrade's alarm clock, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach. If it wasn't just lust, and he had eliminated the other possibilities, well... It was _that_. _That_ wasn't the answer he wanted, and Mycroft Holmes did not appreciate getting answers he did not want. He extricated himself from the DI's limbs and silently padded his way to the bathroom. Turning the water as hot as he could stand, the politician stood there for ten minutes silently cursing himself. His brain told him to run. Get out of here before Lestrade woke up. Hurt him enough that you can't come back and maybe then you can become what you were before.


	7. Reluctance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is unexpected, but appreciated all the same.

“Limitless are the ways of mankind  
in its virulent capacities  
Ironic it may seem  
through this a chance exists to see  
in us also lies the capacity to transcend”

- _Descent_ , VNV Nation 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

But the idea of leaving, of hurting someone he loved, was too horrible to act on. And so he cleaned himself, wrapped a towel around his body, and got back in bed next to Gregory. 

Greg blinked awake slowly, smiling when he saw Mycroft, and in that simple expression, Mycroft knew he'd made the right choice. 

“Morning,” the DI said, pressing a kiss to the other man's lips. 

Mycroft returned the smile. “Good morning, Gregory. Would you allow me to take you out for breakfast before work?” 

Greg broke out into a full-on grin. “Yeah, I'd like that.” He kissed his partner again and got out of bed. “I'll take a quick shower and get ready.” 

Mycroft nodded and stood, making to get dressed. Before he could bend down to pick up the carelessly thrown clothing, Lestrade tapped his arm. 

“I thought,” he shifted nervously, “well, I worried you were going to bolt. I'm glad you don't regret it.” 

“I couldn't. I am, albeit reluctantly, in love with you, Gregory.” 

If Gregory Lestrade had been drinking water, he would have sprayed it everywhere. Instead, he just stared. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft tried. Nothing. “I've made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry, I'll just--” 

The DI jerked back to reality. “No, Mycroft. You didn't make me uncomfortable. That's just... it's a hell of a confession. Um, I'm just shocked. Hold on.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “Oh!” he realized, “you'll probably be wanting to know that I love you, too. You should know that. You probably already do, but, yeah,” he trailed off. “I'm... I'm going to shower, okay? I'll be out in five.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Greg swallowed a mouthful of eggs as he thought of a question. “You said reluctantly,” he pointed at Mycroft with his fork. “What's so bad about being in love?” 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at the gesture, but couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. “I'm not comfortable with it. I created my personality specifically to avoid this situation, and yet, here I am.” 

“Well, maybe it's just not a part of your personality you can control.” 

“Obviously.” 

“And why'd you have to say that, specifically? Couldn't you have just said you were in love? Would've sounded a lot nicer.” 

The politician finished chewing his spoonful of oatmeal. “I thought it would convey how much you've affected me, but I can see now that it came off as not enjoying the fact that I'm with you. I apologize. While this is unforeseen and uncomfortable in that it happened without my agreement, I am pleased that it's you and find myself constantly desiring your company.” 

The DI gave his huge, heartfelt grin again, and it took quite a lot of self-control for Mycroft to keep from snogging him right there in the restaurant. 

“What would you say if I arranged for you to go into work later than you're scheduled?” 

Greg laughed. “That's tempting, but I'd tell you I don't want any special treatment. Can I, uh, see you tonight again?” 

Mycroft frowned. “I can't. I'm going to be out of the country for three days. Could I take you out the night I get back?” 

The other man nodded. “Sure. It's a date.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

“I'm sorry,” Mycroft looked across the room at Sherlock, who only glanced up from the floor out of surprise. His brother wasn't the apology type. “Living this way, suppressing feelings, it's how I've coped with sensory overload for as long as I can remember. You followed that mindset, and I thought it would serve you, serve both of us.” 

“Are you drunk?” Sherlock asked plainly. 

“Sherlock,” the therapist interjected before the elder Holmes could retort, “your brother's trying to tell you something important.” 

The consulting detective scowled, but went silent. 

“You figured all this out before me, of course, but you're still conflicted. And I want to make sure I'm not contributing to that.” Mycroft leaned forward as if to stand. “I must be going, but--” 

“Sit back down, please,” the therapist respectfully commanded, “and listen to your brother's response.” Mycroft frowned at having been interrupted for the second time in one day, but obeyed. “Sherlock, I know you have some thoughts about that.” 

The younger man looked at his feet, resting on the chair with his knees pulled up to his chin. “I wouldn't have copied and continued that trait had I not agreed with it. You're not to blame, Mycroft.” He met his brother's eyes. “It worked for a while. It still works for some things. But it's not an overall disadvantage to care about those who are worth it.” 

Mycroft nodded. “Okay, can I leave, now?” 

The therapist sighed.


	8. Calibration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am amazed at how you make a horrible situation bearable.

“I collect my thoughts and I rise above all that despises me.  
Comprehend the ways of man and under a flag we salute or burn   
there is blood on both shores.  
With hardened mind I traveled, with hardened heart I conquered   
a freedom so ironic, so despicable, so hypocritical.”

- _Serial Killer_ , VNV Nation 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_Damnit. Shit. Shit shit damnit._ Mycroft was not given to fits of rage, but this was different. His whole damn personality had collapsed, and here he'd been thinking it was just a little bit of a change. That he could admit what he felt for Gregory and be done with the turmoil. 

But apparently, he cared about everything, now. 

Unused to this strength of anger, he didn't know what to do with it, but on the plus side, it was raining. Pointedly having left his umbrella at the hotel, he stepped into the downpour and felt the first tendrils of relief. He closed his eyes and stood there, quickly soaking to the bone, and began to relax. 

The man he'd just met with had committed genocide for the last 8 months and had no plans to stop. And unfortunately, this man was also extremely important in keeping another world war from starting. Mycroft dealt with horrible people on a regular basis, and while it disgusted him, he'd never felt it to this magnitude before. This is what he had feared. He'd let in one feeling and they'd all come flooding back in. He wanted so much to be numb again, safe from this, but even if he could, he would never do that to Gregory. 

That left the problem of how to solve this. _Come on, Mycroft, use your brain._

He sifted through memories. How did psychologists and social workers deal with the horrid abuses they saw regularly? It wasn't to the degree of what Mycroft dealt with at this moment, but surely it might work. 

_Compartmentalization._ Ah. Shove the work side into a corner, because getting emotional and crying in front of your patients, or in his case, political leaders and people who could end the world with the push of a button, wouldn't help the situation. Get the emotions out of the equation when entering work mode so that the best choice can be made, so that people can actually be helped instead of being put-off or guilt-tripped by your emotions. Then deal with the feelings in a more appropriate setting. Some therapists had therapists. 

Mycroft could do that. It just took a little reorganization of his brain. Gregory was right that he wasn't really a sociopath, but he was still proficient at mental calibration. 

When he could no longer feel his arms, he made his way back to his room and into a hot shower. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_This country is dreadful. I'm looking forward to my return home. --MH_

Mycroft was under the covers in bed, but unable to sleep. 

_Sorry it's not going well. Can you tell me about it or is it confidential? --GL_

He smiled, thankful that Gregory was around and able to answer his texts. 

_Confidential, I'm afraid. --MH_

Hm. Could he tell Gregory that? Would he think it too weird? 

_I stood in the rain for half an hour. --MH_

The reply was immediate. 

_What? Why? Are you okay? --GL_

_I'm fine, but what I had to deal with today was not. I haven't been this angry before. --MH_

_Shit, Mycroft. I'm sorry. Anything I can do? --GL_

_I find that your presence, even electronically, is comforting. --MH_

_I can comfort you a little more once you're back ;-) --GL_

Mycroft blushed and had the sudden urge to throw the phone across the room and bury his head in his hands. 

_If you don't cut that out, I will personally tell your superiors that you have an entire week of paid vacation and physically carry you to the nearest hotel so that you can make good on your word. --M_


	9. Relieving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're understanding and stable, and it's exaclty what I need if I'm going to indeed do this... relationship... thing.

“Here you have strength  
Here you are safe from harm  
Here you have healing  
All the things you never had

You don't have to live in pain  
in want of things that hurt you more  
You don't have to to suffer  
for the things you've never had” 

\-- _Suffer_ , VNV Nation 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Greg's joy at seeing Mycroft morphed into concern when the elder Holmes' face fell as soon as the door closed behind him. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing I can talk to you about,” he said sourly, dropping his umbrella into its stand. 

The DI's mouth twisted to the side. “Another one of those, huh?” 

Mycroft slumped down on the couch. “It doesn't...” he inhaled deeply, gaining control of his voice. “It doesn't get easier, does it? I thought after that detestable trip out of the country, the rest of my dealings wouldn't be nearly as horrible. Nothing's been as awful as that, but still I find myself _feeling_ ,” he said the word with utter distaste. He glanced over at his worried partner who had just sat down next to him. “How do you cope with what you see? Your work's not pleasant, either.” 

“You're right, it's never going to be easy. But I talk with my friends. Try to focus on the good things. Spend time with you.” 

Greg smiled and then let out a _no, it was not a yelp!_ of surprise as he found himself suddenly horizontal and Mycroft's very eager lips caressing his. It was almost embarrassing how fast his body responded, lips softening into pliancy. 

“Yeah, this works a little bit,” he said, grinning against Mycroft's slowing kisses. “Should we take this somewhere we have a little more room? Couch isn't exactly spacious.” 

The darker-haired man lifted his head back to nod and promptly moved the prone DI to the floor. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------- 

_Would you be angry if I moved our dinner back to 7:30? --M_

Feeling the vibration, Greg set his pencil down from the case he was working on and pulled out his phone. He frowned. 

_It's our one year anniversary, Mycroft. I've been looking forward to this all week. Is it really that important? --G_

He passed the next few minutes underlining words and circling pertinent facts, trying to find connections. Getting it out on paper always seemed to help. 

_I assure you, it's highly important. --M_

Sighing, the DI tapped out his reply. 

_I'm miffed, but I trust your judgement. 7:30 it is. --G_

_Thank you. --M_

Greg sat up out of his chair. He knew that baker had sounded off, but now he knew the connection and what exactly he needed to ask. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Lestrade stared at the open box in silence, the candlelight flickering back and forth across the metal key. 

Across the table, Mycroft's face was hopeful. “I found a new flat, neutral territory since it's neither of ours. Would you move in with me?”


	10. Zenith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I guess you've made me stupid, because I'm not going to jump off before this turns into a trainwreck, though I can see it coming several miles away.

“I filtered the wind to sense the colours of the air  
Projecting the graphs describing past and future  
The shapes of the living and calamity they bear  
Clairvoyance became a word far too weak  
Cynicism, awareness interlaced into grace  
A beauty from which my valedictory springs.”

\-- _Wind of the North_ , Covenant 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Standing in the rain again, he turned his face toward the atmosphere, feeling the tension in his muscles leave. 

“Come inside,” said a small voice to his left. 

“No, I rather enjoy this.” 

The DI moved to bring Mycroft under the umbrella he held, but Mycroft stepped out of its range. 

“You'll get sick.” 

“That's a myth propagated by uninformed plebeians. Rain and cold don't make you sick if you don't come into contact with pathogens, and seeing as I'm not rubbing sick people on myself or touching anything but the ground under my shoes, even though my immune system may be lowered, it's unlikely I'll become ill.” 

Lestrade looked down and shuffled a foot against the pavement. A few moments passed. “I'll just fold--” 

“No.” Mycroft shot him a sharp glance before turning back away. “Just because I'm feeling horrid doesn't meant I want you to feel the same way. It's perfectly fine if you even feel good.” Before the DI could ask, Mycroft continued. “I love you, Gregory, of course I wouldn't want you to feel badly. Especially not on my account. So don't try to make yourself miserable by getting yourself drenched, too.” 

And now Greg _did_ feel a stab of pain. After another period of silence, he smiled. “No one's ever wanted that for me, before. They wonder why I'm not miserable with them, and when I'm not they try to make me.” 

“Petty, irrational creatures, no doubt ruled purely by emotion without a trace of thought.” 

The rain fell harder. 

Lestrade's face grew serious. “I do love you, Mycroft, I'm just not ready to live with you. Maybe if I was back in my 20's and not so jaded, but after the wife... I just need more time.” 

Finally, the elder Holmes met his gaze and held it. “I'm not upset that you need more time, I'm upset that I misread you and that my actions were pushing you to accept. I caused you distress on an important night, and I shouldn't have made such a big leap without at least talking to you, first.” 

“Well, the night's not over. Come up and I'll draw you a bath in that huge tub of yours. And I know your bed, intimately,” he winked. “Lots of fluffy pillows and thick blankets. Very warm and cozy, especially when your boyfriend's got his head under them and is--” 

“Okay,” Mycroft said quickly. “We're going upstairs. Now.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Life became relatively normal again until Lestrade decided he _did_ want to move their relationship along. 

“Are you sure? There's still time for me to leave,” Mycroft rubbed his thumb on the hooked end of his umbrella nervously. 

Greg kissed him gently. “It'll be fine.” A series of knocks sounded on the door and the DI practically bounded over to answer it. “Hi!” he bent down to take the little girl into his arms. He stood and spun in a circle, earning a laugh. 

“Hi, Daddy!” 

The woman at the door waved. “See you in three days, honey. I love you!” 

“Love you, Mommy!” 

Greg set his daughter back down and closed the door as his ex-wife receded into the hall. “Did you notice who's here?” 

She glanced to the dark-haired stranger who she'd taken no notice of until now. “Hi,” she said shyly. 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Annabelle,” Mycroft said sincerely, looking as composed as ever. 

Annabelle didn't respond. With a smile, Greg looked between the two of them. “Who wants to play Cluedo while we wait for the pizza?” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Greg knew that Mycroft'd figured out the weapon, room and murderer. He knew because _he'd_ already figured it out, and Mycroft would've crushed him like every other time they played, but for some reason the politician was feigning ignorance. 

“I wanna guess!” Anna announced. “Mrs. White with the pipe in the ballroom!” She grabbed the envelope from the middle of the board and spilled the cards into her palm. With a triumphant noise, she slapped them on the board. “Yes!” 

Mycroft pulled his 'impressed' face. “Perhaps she can solve some of your trickier cases, Gregory, when my brother is not available.” 

She beamed. “I'm gonna be a detective like Daddy, and solve all sorts of crimes.” 

Darkness flashed across the DI's face at the thought of his daughter becoming a copper, imperceptible to Anna but not to Mycroft. “You can be whatever you want to be, honey.” 

“I know,” she said. 

The doorbell rang and she sprang up. “Pizza!” She raced out of the room, her father trailing her. After he'd paid, he turned on the DVD, and they all made themselves comfortable on the couch. Greg found himself, as expected, wedged in the middle, and that was perfectly alright with him. He was between the two people he loved the most in the world, and they both seemed to like each other. 

He got up to clear the plates halfway through, washing them in his tiny sink so he wouldn't have to do it later. He really needed to get a place with a dishwasher. But even if he had, he didn't cook enough or have nearly enough plates to run a full load. 

Greg returned to the living room and the sight made him grin. Anna had paused the movie 'so Daddy didn't miss anything,' he'd found out later, and was eagerly chatting with the politician. 

“But what do you do in the government?” 

“Just a minor position, filing paperwork.” 

“Nuh uh, Daddy said you're really important! Oooh, you're something super secret and can't say, aren't you?” Her eyes lit up. “Like a spy or a secret agent!” 

Mycroft shook his head. “Nothing that interesting, I'm afraid.” 

Anna winked conspiratorially. “Nothing interesting. Right, I get it.” She turned, finally seeing her father in the doorway to the kitchen. “Hurry up, Daddy, I want to see what happens!”


	11. Plummet

“The lies I try to tell with my own eyes  
An act of pride, a willful compromise  
Please understand how torn I am  
when I walk away from here

You know that I am not unkind,  
when I say: in the future, the past is just the past  
No going back, no change of heart  
But this is now  
Time will not defer 

When alone, when I remember days,  
nothing will change a single fact of who you were to me  
Oh, come what may, forever to the end  
I find it so hard to let you go” 

\-- _From My Hands_ , VNV Nation 

\-------------------------------------------------------------- 

“Are you sure? No, of course you are.” He dismissed his PA and felt only marginally better at being alone. Mycroft's entire nervous system seemed to speed up. His heart thudding dully in his ears and his chest tightening, he gripped the underside of his desk. His head pounded as the full force of emotions assaulted him from his damn useless neurons. Entirely worthless, if it had led to this. If he'd failed so miserably as he had to prevent this. 

The world was blurry as he moved through it to the waiting black car. As he stepped foot into the Yard. As he made his way, somehow managing to stay upright, to Gregory's office. 

The DI looked up at him, pleasantly surprised to see his partner and unaware of anything amiss until he noticed the cold mask on Mycroft's face. 

“Mycroft?” 

“I'm sorry, Detective Inspector. We can no longer be amorously acquainted. I do hope you understand that it is simply because I can no longer afford to return your feelings.” 

Greg paled, feeling as if time had frozen. “What?” He tried to shout, say that he didn't understand, but his throat felt dry and restricted and the words wouldn't come out. 

“I believe you heard what I said, based on the physiological responses you just displayed. I cannot be with you, Detective Inspector. I wish you all the best.” He turned and strode out of the room, and all Greg could do was stare after him. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

_What the hell did you do to Lestrade? --SH_

Mycroft ignored the text and switched his phone to silent. He had a pile of paperwork to get through and no time for Sherlock's complaints. He managed to keep himself distracted for the rest of the day and not look at his phone or think about... anything personal. There were several new texts when he checked his mobile before climbing into bed. 

_He told me to go away and Anderson says he hasn't moved from his desk all day. --SH_

_I know you wouldn't dare break up with him. --SH_

_You did, didn't you? I'm going to punch you next time I see you. --SH_

_How am I supposed to get cases if the sight of a Holmes is so repulsive to him? I wish I wasn't related to you. --SH_

_You're a horrible little man. And you're fat, too. --SH_

_Mummy always said you were going to die alone. --SH_

The thing was, Mycroft knew the texts should hurt. That's what Sherlock wanted them to do, and normally they'd upset him, but he was simply resigned. Sherlock was right, after all. What he'd done was awful and there was no excuse, even though it's what he'd had to do. It was the least horrible option, even if it didn't feel like it. 

He plugged his phone in to charge and set it on the nightstand, eyes landing on his flight itinerary for the morning.


	12. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the reasons I adore you is that you do not simply forgive. You expect more. You know you deserve more. And I will not forget that.

Twenty years ago I rode by helicopter to the sky  
I laughed at gravitation, for a moment I was free  
They say I never landed, you know they may be right  
It looks better from above with some distance in between

To leave is never easy, perhaps it shouldn't be  
Return is even harder, yes to return is harder still 

\-- _Helicopter_ , Covenant 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The quiet, barren landscape of the country was the antithesis of the unbridled wrath emitting from Mycroft Holmes in an underground bunker. 

“Tell me again,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. The lack of yelling only expanded the fear of the man being held captive. 

“He's in France, man. Hiding from you. Why would I know the specifics?” 

Mycroft turned, taking a few steps away. “Oh, I don't know. You're second in command?” He whirled back around. “Do you think I'm stupid?” 

The man flinched. “If you're gonna torture me, just do it already!” 

The elder Holmes smiled. “We're not going to torture you, Mr. Markson. We're going to treat you with all the humanity that you and your organization never gave to the thousands you slaughtered. And with or without your help, your leader will be brought to justice.” 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Greg yawned as he rolled out of bed and switched off his alarm. It still hurt to wake up alone every morning, but it'd been nearly 3 months and he'd got on with life. It's not like he had nothing to live for beyond Mycroft, and he'd slogged through the worst of it in those miserable first few days when the shock had passed. He could even stand to see Sherlock, now, even though the reminder caused a constant dull ache that lasted for hours after he left. 

He was just about to leave for work when a knock sounded at his door. 

The DI was hit with a wave of pain that almost knocked him over when he saw the immaculate older Holmes standing there. 

“Gregory, I have to explain what happened.” 

“It's a little late for that!” Greg yelled, considering slamming the door in the other man's face. 

“I know, but this is as soon as I could. Well, I could have done over the phone roughly seventeen hours ago, but I preferred this be in person. I just got back to England.” 

Greg felt some of the anger leave. “Even if I wanted to listen to what you had to say, I have to get to work.” 

Mycroft nodded, always one to appreciate practicality. “It won't take long. I could explain on the drive over.” 

Curiosity and sentiment overtaking the fact that he was still pissed off, he agreed, grabbing his wallet and phone before following Mycroft to the black car he'd been in so many times. Shit, that brought back memories he wasn't prepared to deal with right now. 

“Well?” he prodded, turning to the darker-haired man when they'd fastened their seatbelts. 

“I would never have left you had your life not been in danger.” 

“Go on.” 

“To get right to the point, thousands of lives were at stake and so I made a political move that undermined a very powerful man. When I learned that he planned to have me killed, it was natural to worry you'd be in danger, too. Anthea confirmed that he was, indeed, looking for hitmen to go after you as well.” 

Greg's frown deepened, but he remained silent. 

Mycroft twisted at the handle of his umbrella. “The only way to keep that from happening was to make it seem as if I didn't care about you. I made it semi-public, so others would know. It would prove that harming you would not get to me, thus, making harming you pointless. I can handle not having you, but your death would wreck me. I just... even if you won't take me back, I wanted you to know why I did this to you. I'm so sorry, Gregory.” 

“You're a bloody idiot, Mycroft.” The politician opened his mouth to agree, but Lestrade went on. “Say I forgive you. We're happy a few years, blissfully in love or whatever, and then, _bam_!” he slapped his hand, “you piss off another big wig. You try to break it off again, pretend you don't care, but maybe we're married. You gonna just divorce me? You think the same trick'll work twice? They'll know it's an act after we got back together when the last threat had passed.” 

“So, you're implying it would be best for me to remain alone as to not put you or future partners at risk?” 

Greg groaned in exasperation. “For someone so brilliant, you're really stupid, you know that? I'm asking what you'll do when this happens again.” 

“I don't know. Have security follow you constantly and have my nerves on the fritz until it passes, however long that may be?” 

“You Holmes' are so bloody dramatic. You and Sherlock, the things you do to 'protect' John and me. Okay, so if security would make you feel better, why didn't you just do that this time?” 

Mycroft thought for a moment. “There's no guarantee it'd be safe enough. If this buys us those few years together and then it fails next time because the same plan won't work twice and we have to rely on security, at least we get those extra few years and it's worth it.” 

The DI considered this as they pulled up to the Yard. 

“You have all the time you need to make your decision. I'm not interested in anyone else.” 

Smiling despite the anger that remained, Greg unbuckled and leaned across the seat to kiss Mycroft. It was short and tender and Mycroft was overcome with guilt and gratefulness and nostalgia and hope. 

“I don't need more time. But,” he held up a finger, “I'm not letting you off the hook for this. You have to be willing to change and start consulting me before you run off on elaborate plans. Pick me up after work and we'll talk more, okay?” 

Mycroft nodded mutely and watched Gregory disappear into the building, then signaled to his driver to head to the secondary office.


	13. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You are home to me.

“I'm a thousand people  
From day to day  
We are all airborne  
Without ground control  
I call my name  
In the maelstrom

I'm not givin' in  
So don't you give in  
I'll be your Atlas  
And carry our world 

But I guess  
I won't save the world today” 

\-- _Atlas_ , Covenant 

\------------------------------------------------------------------ 

When Lestrade slid into the car at 7:05, Mycroft could tell that the DI had been thinking. He accepted the chaste kiss, wishing he could get the issues talked out and dealt with already. It always grated on his nerves to wait for pleasantries to be over with so he could get to the point of a meeting, but years of practice had taught him it was better to be patient and make people comfortable with enough idle chitchat until they had whatever buildup they needed before at last getting to the subject. 

Gregory surprised him. 

“To get right to it, Mycroft, I get why you did what you did. To get a few extra years with you by suffering for three months, I really do get it. In the way you analyzed it, it makes sense. Was I really being watched that closely? Couldn't you have slipped me a piece of paper or something? I'd've had the sense to destroy it afterwards. Unless you're saying my room was bugged, but maybe outside?” 

The politician bowed his head. “Point taken. But I don't know how good of an actor you are. I act every day in my job, so it's natural to me, but I couldn't find it in me to take that risk. Not with you, Gregory. As I told you, your death would wreck me. I worry about you and Sherlock constantly, and I just can't bring myself to regret anything that keeps you safe.” He turned his body to face the DI. “But that does not mean I do not feel horrible for what I did to you.” 

Greg reached a hand out, taking Mycroft's in it. “I'm sure I could handle it, I've done before. You need to promise me this isn't going to happen again. I know you want to keep me safe, but it's a matter of respect for my freedom to choose.” 

“Understood.” He squeezed Greg's hand. “I promise to consult you in all future decisions about your safety.” 

“Thank you for that basic bit of human decency,” the DI said snarkily with a playful smile. Mycroft cautiously smiled back. “I know, Myc. You do respect me as a person. So really, thank you.” 

The elder Holmes narrowed his eyes. “I might have a little less respect for you if you ever use that nickname again.” 

Gregory grinned. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------- 

After three months apart, it was both alien and exceedingly comfortable to sit beside each other again on Mycroft's sofa. Greg put his arms around him, leaning on the other man's chest when Mycroft shifted to face him. 

Mycroft reveled in the simple enjoyment of Greg's chest rising and falling against his own. Had it really been such a small sliver of his life since the last time he'd had this? How had Gregory's touch become such a craving that he could hardly stand to be without it? 

“It's like I can breathe again,” Greg said softly. He snapped his head up. “I mean, it's not like I was going to die or anything, it's just that it feels right. Like breathing.” 

Stroking Gregory's hair as he leaned back down, the elder Holmes felt his guard fall away. “Me too,” he quietly responded. 

Greg felt the other man tighten his arms around him. 

“I want you to know that even if you never wanted to live with me or marry me, I could be content with just this. And I would consider myself lucky.” 

“Shush.” Lestrade wriggled his way upward to come face to face his partner. “Barring you behaving like you did again, one day I'll be ready for all of that. And it'll be both of us who're lucky,” he booped Mycroft on the nose, earning him an affronted gasp. “You got that?” 

Still gazing at Greg with mock-offense, he hummed a noise of assent.


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You inspired me to accept all of myself, and I will always appreciate that.

“I don't think I remember  
how long I waited here  
watching everything  
My thoughts began to wander  
Then I realized  
every moment I had lived  
everything that I had seen  
pass like this moment now  
As clear to me as now  
is the moment when I knew  
that I can let go  
It's time to let it go  
With it came the feeling,  
strange, I'd waited for it,  
I think, all my life  
A thousand words burst forward  
from my very soul   
I didn't feel alone.”

\-- _Secluded Spaces_ , VNV Nation 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------- 

**July 2018**

John laughed, catching his breath when he'd caught up with Sherlock. The consulting detective couldn't help but beam at his best friend. He could spare forty-two seconds without losing the murderer they'd been chasing. 

“I love you, John,” he stated as if he were describing what he'd had for breakfast. 

The shorter man straightened. Words wouldn't cover what that made him feel, so Sherlock found himself stumbling backwards a few steps as John launched at him. 

They kissed, unleashing years of pent up emotions in the fifteen-point-nine seconds before the detective broke it. 

He flashed a cocky half-grin. “There'll be time for more, later.” 

John stood there a few moments longer until he came out of a daze, and then scrambled up the gate and down the alley after Sherlock. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Lestrade paced Mycroft's apartment, waiting for the other man to get home from work. He was all nerves for their three-year tonight, because he was finally ready. The DI knew Mycroft'd wanted to move in together for quite a while, but what if he rejected the idea out of spite for Greg's rejection last time? No, he couldn't think like that. Mycroft wasn't the type to hurt someone he loved even if he was hurting, himself. But what if he'd changed his mind and decided he preferred living separately? 

The door opened and Lestrade tried to act casual, as if he'd just happened to pause in the middle of the living room. 

“I'm ready, Mycroft,” he said, eager to deal with this outside of a nice restaurant this time. 

“Oh, well, I just need to use the washroom and then we can go. We've got about half an hour, though.” 

Greg shook his head and closed the few steps between them. “No,” he put a hand on the darker-haired man's shoulder, “I mean I'm ready to move in together. If you still want to,” he tacked on the end. 

The DI didn't think he'd ever seen Mycroft's eyes light up so much before. 

“Really?” Mycroft didn't even try to stem the flow of emotion that welled up inside him. Because moving in wasn't just living together, it was indicative of a deep trust that he never was sure anyone would have for him, let alone Gregory. Sharing the minutiae of life and having faith that the other person would still find you special and interesting. That the bad habits either of you had were not so annoying that they could rival the strength of your love. That money could be dealt with fairly and your things were safe. That if you wanted to keep something private, the other person would respect that. That you had trust in the stability of the relationship, because coming home to someone you'd split from was awful, and Gregory knew that firsthand. 

With Greg's smile and assurance that, yes, he really was, Mycroft pulled him close and kissed him deeply, groaning softly when Greg pressed tighter against him and something hard brushed against his inner thigh. He found himself pulling at the DI's tie – _one of mine_ , Mycroft noted, which only turned him on more-- and unbuttoning his shirt. 

Dinner reservations were completely forgotten for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooo so much for the kudos and comments :) You all are sweet and I appreciate every one. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
